Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Um.” You say at the state of the backroom. Everyone talking over each other in a haste. Several people just leaning up against their lockers and gesturing.

“Hey, what’s-“

“Where the fuck were you?” Your coworker asks, though not particularly meanly.

You shrug.

“I didn’t have any early clients booked in and I didn’t – feel like milling around. What’s going on?”

“Some chick is going through us like flies!”

“Um. Okay? And?”

“And she’s not fucking any of us!”

“…. Well what is she doing?”

“She’s like. I dunno. Some egotistical bastard who’s looking for her perfect little whore match made in heaven, I guess. No idea.”

“Have you had-“

“Yes. Obviously.” And now they do sound mad. You don’t tease them for it.

“Oh. Okay. Are you-“

“I have actual clients to attend to, yes. Thank you very much for reminding me. I’m going for a smoke, actually. You should really take it up, just so that you have the fifteen minutes.”

“Bathroom and shower breaks are the same when you think about it.” You laugh, waving them off.

Gosh. It seems like it’s all anyone’s talking about. You’re half tempted to go get yourself a drink, you’re sure that if it’s what it sounds like there’s a chance she’ll make her way to doing the same to you.

Unless she finds someone first. You’re not sure whether to be curious or nervous or both or maybe even just plainly offended on principal. You think you probably should be but you can’t quite manage it. You’re not sure what it is she’d be looking for that seemingly no one here can provide- and you’re sure if she’s important enough to be doing this at all that it’s stressing poor Beatrice to no end.

You frown, thinking of something, and you grab Penny’s shoulder as she brushes past.

“Wait- is that why we’re all back here?”

“Is what why.”

“Oh. Sorry. Lost in thought- the um. The woman.”

“Yeah. Anyone she’s been through is fine to go to their normal clients or out into the wings or whatever but. Apart from that.”

“Oh. Did she only just get here?”

“No. She’s been at it for half the damn night, and gone through most people. She’s having breaks in between, I can’t imagine why.”

“Maybe she’s got a headache.” You say, and she snickers.

“What is it she’s – doing, anyway?”

“She’s just fucking getting people to sit down and ask them questions as far as I understand it. Who cares. She’s a prick.”

“Well. I don’t know if that’s fair. And anyway, wouldn’t you say that most people who come in here are?”

“’Course I fuckin’ would.”

“Well there you go, then.”

“Maybe. Maybe. You’re too fuckin- ugh. You.”

“Sorry, sorry. Just got here. You give me getting discarded like everyone else and then fucking Jeremy and you’ll see how morose I can be.” You say, ignoring the way your chest wants to heave. It’s easier when you’re joking about it.

“Ugh. Jeremy. He’s not a prick, he’s a cunt.”

“Fat and glistening. Anyway, I’ll just pop myself in the corner and wait it out, if you wanna join?”

She laughs, but this one’s more real, and she shakes her head and says she’s getting a stiff drink.

You don’t blame her. You think half the place is going to want a stiff drink by the time the night’s over with.

You aren’t really sure what the fuss is about, not apart from the fact she could be a big spender. But hey- maybe that’s reason enough.

The backroom does eventually thin, and it’s one by one. You realize somewhere in there that everyone who was here on time for opening must’ve been pretty effectively rounded up. You shake your head at the internals, the small clench of anxiety. What do you have to be anxious about. It’s just the unknown element, you’re sure. You’ll go in, if she even gets to you, and-

“Oi.”

You flicker your eyes up from the book you were pretending to read.

“Your turn.”

You let out a breath, rolling your neck and unlocking your shoulders.

“Ain’t you gonna go?”

Impatience colours his voice and you stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah- give me a second, please.”

“Magic word my ass. Not my fault if you get yours handed to you.” He scoffs.

You almost ask where his is. You keep it quiet for the few moments you take to put your things away slightly more securely in your locker. The actual lock doesn’t help, not much, but there’s enough of an honour system that people don’t touch your shit in the hopes not to get theirs messed with, and that at least works well enough.

You hesitate- and then leave on the overshirt that you walked your way here in.

It makes you feel more naked than the lingerie beneath it, for how out of place it is for you to walk out into the main entrances. You even eye it up from where you are. But. You’re more comfortable in it- and tonight, especially with how things have been going lately, you’ll take whatever you can get. You know you can’t keep doing this.

You have a similar thought process when you look at the massive heels you normally wear. And then you look down at your sneakers, and you know they won’t do either.

You take them off, and your socks, and you put those in the locker, too.

“What the fuck.” He laughs at you.

You just shrug. You couldn’t verbalize your thought process if you tried, not truly, somewhere beyond words.

You didn’t realize how much the heels gave you something to cling onto until you walk out.

Everything looks odd for a moment, as you walk down the red infested hallways, before you manage to place it.

You’re shorter. And it’s making the light play in ways it normally doesn’t. Almost makes you wonder how Beatrice manages not to clang into every table you have.

He follows you through, and tells you which room to go to.

The most expensive one. Of course. You snort, and you share a look with him that he allows.

But still, he leaves you well and truly alone now that you’re guaranteed to head in the right direction.

You feel the constriction of your upper chest, right between your collarbones, and it makes you want to snort your laughter. Maybe at yourself but also maybe just as a nervous twitch.

You don’t. You aren’t sure if she can hear.

Part of you wants to say something, as you enter. Some quip that you’d say to almost anyone else about how it’s quite the first impression, but as you open the door, you’re struck quite dumb.

The light that the door lets in, that sliver of yellow, illuminates her. Stretched into her chair, one well built arm folded over the side and dangling, the other hidden from view by a cape wrapped snugly around her shoulders. The chair is big but she’s taking up a large portion of it, though as you are you aren’t sure whether that’s from how tall she is or it’s because of the way she’s strewn about. Her legs wide apart, exuding- confidence, you think. Ultimately. Confidence and calm and maybe just a touch of something dominant and teasing.

Though maybe that’s just the small smirk she’s allowed herself to have, watching you watch her. Taking in something that she either knows or doesn’t care about. Even in the small amount of light on her face you can see she has a tooth gap. It’s cute. It makes her full lips suit her even more. Her well sculpted eyebrow lifting from her dark eyes, the very bottom of her held back hair just barely touching her shoulder when she allows her head to tilt to regard you properly. The movement brings your attention to her nose, large and well placed. It also does a good job of highlighting her jaw, her cheekbones. Both of them cutting.

She’s breathtaking. Enough that you lose it almost entirely. She’s the most beautiful thing you think you’ve seen- certainly in here. You swallow around your suddenly dry mouth and it doesn’t do anything. You don’t even know what you feel but it sure is something.

“The door.” She says, not unamused. Her voice rough and low and just as specific and her as the rest of her seems to be.

You close it carefully behind you, and when the music of the rest of the club fades to nothing with the sound proofing, you’re left even more off center than before, and you were plenty then.

You turn to face her and something about her seems- impatient. For what you’re not sure, but you also certainly don’t blame her if she is.

She’s looking for something.

“Pour me a drink.” She says, her eyes still roaming you. Undecided on something. You pretend not to notice.

You nod, and walk carefully further into the room, toward the side bar behind her.

Only-

“What would you like?” You ask softly.

You turn your head to look at her over your shoulder as you ask but she sure isn’t looking back, and she doesn’t turn her head when she responds.

“What do you think I’d like.” Her voice rings out all the same.

“Alcohol.” You half joke- and it at least half works, by her snort and the small shake of her head. Loosens- something. Not everything, but something.

“Whisky. Just straight is fine.”

There’s another moment, where you’re deciding which whisky to use. There’s multiple.

You almost go for the one that’s the most expensive purely on the idea that she’d like it more- but no. It’s double malt. You think that would overpower whatever else it is she wants to be concentrating on.

You go with something infused with honey, and you hope it’s not a mistake.

You spend another moment to look at her frame, the set of her shoulders, before pouring a much more generous helping than you would for anyone else. For one, you think she can take it easily.

For another, you think she might need it.

You find yourself walking all the way back around her chair to give it to her- and you’re even more surprised that you find that you can’t quite meet her eye. Maybe it shouldn’t be that surprising. She’s intimidating as anything. She definitely knows it, too. Probably uses it to her advantage.

You watch her hand, instead- oh God, it’s- huge. Even for her height, and you’re figuring out quite quickly that isn’t that an impressive thing on its’ own, they’re large. Almost fully encasing the glass, and brushing your fingers together when she takes it quite purposefully. You’re past the point of feeling electricity, you thought. Well since past it.

It happens all the same, and a tingle of goosebumps goes down your spine. You’re better than to have an outwards reaction. You think.

Though you aren’t making eye contact, you sure can see the way that she’s watching you, as she brings it to her lips and takes a steady sip.

She makes a soft noise, and has another. And seems to savour it just that bit more. It makes something flash in your tummy that feels something a little bit too close to pride and contentment for your comfort. It makes you feel awful for a split second but then, nothing’s happened yet. Maybe it’s just that you felt good in any way.

“Sit.” She says, not gesturing where.

There’s multiple choices. There’s even another chair carefully placed in the corner that you’re sure some people pulled up.

There’s also the bed. It’s certainly a way to try and expressly invite.

Only this isn’t a job interview- well. Not as such. And it’s also obviously not something that she wants- to try to be seduced. Not at all.

She’s looking for something. Not someone, not specifically. Just what they can provide her. And when you look back at her from looking around at what there is you can see the way that she’s looking at you, at your hesitation.

So you ask.

“Where would you like me?”

Something else loosens on her face, and another small smirk that doesn’t quite show her lovely teeth flashes. You find yourself wanting that.

She gestures with the hand you can see, to the floor beside her. The whisky sloshing in the glass gently. It makes you feel- something. Certainly, the flush on your cheeks deepens, and you try not to get embarrassed by that. It’ll only make it worse. Hopefully the dark of the lighting can hide it.

But she’d said sit.

“You aren’t sitting.” She says after another moment of your brain blanking. Whatever progress you thought you were making starting to give way. Her voice closer to being as annoyed, which is what you can recognize it was now, as the start.

“I- um. I.”

“You um?” She half mocks you.

“I wasn’t. Sure whether you wanted sitting or kneeling.” You whisper, embarrassed to admit that’s what you were thinking about. Your eyes flash up to her face before you mean to let them.

She blinks. Pulls her face up and righting it slightly- and then she smirks again and it reaches her eyes.

“You can kneel.”

“Faced to or away from you?”

“Parallel is fine.”

You don’t mention that it’s odd that you would both face the door. It’s what she wants. It doesn’t matter if that’s a bit odd.

Somewhere in there, distantly and far beyond words, there’s a recognition that you don’t care not because she’s a potential client. Not at all. This doesn’t feel like that, even. Nothing like normal. You just – want. You don’t even know if you know what. But you do. The feeling so foreign to you that you’re impressed you even placed it.

You take the few steps to line yourself up with how you assume she wants you, and you sink to your knees. Allowing your ass to sit on your heels, all the way back, the most relaxed you can be. You think that you might be here for a while. At the very least, you’re expecting to get through a few of the questions that no one was telling you about.

She doesn’t start with that. Her hand raises and lowers a few times, and you think she’s just watching you as she drinks.

You realize that you faced your head straight and your eyes have naturally lowered to the floor. It’s why you can see her hand out of the corner of your eye.

You don’t know what to think about that either. Doing anything else would feel wrong, though, and she hasn’t said to stop. You swallow and consider whether you’ve done something wrong or not- but to correct it is likely going to make you seem… You aren’t sure. Something close to not being able to listen to your instincts, maybe.

You stay there. You both do. You aren’t actually sure for how long, but a few minutes at least. She’s savouring her drink enough that it’s not really going down very far.

You hope that means she likes the taste.

She huffs her breath in something that isn’t quite a snort, and shifts around in her chair, pulling something out of her back pocket.

The glass gets placed on the floor in your eyesight. You don’t change it, not even when her hand hesitates in pulling away. You think maybe you blink softly but you aren’t sure. You don’t really know what’s happening to you- you just feel. Happy enough to stay as you are, because she’s asked you to.

You haven’t felt like that in- a long time. A long time. And you certainly haven’t ever felt it here. The reckoning of it making you internally flinch.

You don’t think about that. You don’t want to jinx it. You don’t want whatever’s happening to go away.

You try not to feel upset already at the thought of rejection. You’ll be able to rationalize it to yourself after it’s happened regardless.

You’re pulled from your not-quite thoughts at her bringing something else down and into your eyeline.

It’s a smoking case.

“Roll me one.”

You don’t respond, not really. You think you maybe nod a bit- but mostly the indication that you will is just how you take it from her. You place it in front of you, seeing the different compartments. Noticing the two different boxes- quite helpfully labelled. It’s cute.

“Would you like a cig, a blunt, or a joint?” You say quietly instead of that. There’s something lilting in your voice that you don’t quite know how to take and so you outright ignore it.

“If you can roll a blunt.”

You have less practice, admittedly, but you think you’ll be okay. You nod and roll it for her- it’s not the best one you’ve ever done, but it’s quite serviceable. The square cut to the leaves making it easier for you.

“Mm. Light it for me.” She says.

You pull yourself up onto your knees, placing the filter in her mouth for her. Your face practically blazing from the blush you’re sure is halfway down your neck at minimum. You’re still shorter than her, like this. It makes you wonder how much shorter you’d be as you stand. You think it might even be more than a foot. Her head seems larger than yours.

She looks down at you somewhere between serious and amused and – intaking information, at the way your eyes are stuck on her lips. She’s so close. You feel almost like this should be an intrusion- this feels far too intimate.

Fuck, this feels more intimate than the way you’ve fucked some people. Most people.

But still- her other hand comes out from under her cape, and you hold your hand out for her to drop the lighter onto.

She places it carefully, and the metal of her hand scratches gently against your skin. It’s as purposeful as it is surprisingly soothing. Letting you know what it is she has under there. You think you make a soft noise at it, or give some other reaction- but it’s not negative, and you hope she can see that.

You aren’t nearly paying attention to it, not as your own eyes flicker up to hers briefly, the soft glow of the lighter as you flick it on illuminating that her eyes are grey, a deep slate grey, it looks almost unnatural for how striking it is. You thought they were brown.

And the worst part is that in the light, they look golden. You think you might be a bit mesmerized.

Those eyes lighten, and then flicker away from your own as she smiles and brings herself down to the flame and pulls in instead of waiting for you to bring it forward and towards her.

You almost apologize. You almost squirm where you are. You think your breath is shaky. Your eyes darting between both of hers, still, while you try and fail to get a hold of yourself.

She politely pulls away as the stuff within the casing crackles and she empties the smoke into the rest of the room rather than your face. It makes her jaw look cutting. Her profile is so striking.

You still have the lighter on when she turns back to you, and you’re sure she’s at least amused, now. From the way her eyes are smiling even as she’s not. Her movements are just – captivating. You don’t have a better word for it.

Good God.

She gently takes the lighter off of you with her metal hand, and places it back in her pocket without breaking eye contact. It’s overwhelming, the way it normally is, but you’ll be damned if there isn’t also something in it that you want to figure out. Even if you don’t know what that is.

“Do you smoke.”

“No. Not often.” You admit.

“Sir.”

You’re sure she can see the way you lose your breath and then gasp it back in, but you quickly correct it.

“Not often, sir.” You say, your voice suddenly croaky.

“Inhale.” She says, pulling a puff through.

You thought you knew what she was going to do, and you exhale- but she holds it, and suddenly her hand is grabbing you gently by the chin and pulling you closer to her, and you would’ve lost your breath again anyway.

Your eyes flutter and you breathe in when she blows the smoke in your face, and even from that you cough.

She doesn’t quite laugh at you but you think that’s a scent you’re likely going to have to get even more used to lingering around the brothel- even if you don’t have the opportunity to do this again.

More than that you think that you’re never going to be able to smell it randomly without blushing after this.

“Back down.” She says, and despite the fact that you find yourself not wanting to- wanting to watch her, you do. Settle back down onto your knees with your eyes locked to the floor like you were.

The glass that you genuinely forgot about gets picked up from where it was, and she has another sip before speaking.

“How long have you been in the job.” She asks, her voice more guarded, and you almost want to curse. Your chest tightening involuntarily. Some of that feeling going away with it.

But you still give the answer that Beatrice told you to.

“Oh, not long.” You say- and you can’t make yourself sound convincing. At best it sounds like you’re trying to deflect.

And at worst?

“Do any of your customers hurt you.”

“Oh, I can’t possibly say. Client confidentiality is-“

“Do you like it.” She interrupts you.

You think that you’ve completely screwed it up, and you almost want to cry. You want her. In some- any capacity. You actually – want someone, let alone a customer, and you’re fucking it in front of your face. It doesn’t even matter if it would fall apart in a second- this is better than anything you’ve dealt with so far. And you’re fucking it.

“I get paid.” You say- not quite what Beatrice told you to, not quite, but still close enough that you’ll have the fall back.

She sighs, disappointed, and you understand. You do.

You’re disappointed yourself.

“I thought you were better than to give the same answers everyone else came in here with.”

You want to laugh out of your nervousness but you swallow it.

“I don’t know what you mean.” You try listlessly.

“You have a cute face, for a bad liar.”

Fuck what Beatrice told you. You sigh yourself, something loosening that you think has to, even if it’s not with her. Annoyed at yourself and affected enough that you push your hands over your cheeks to soothe yourself before you answer. You don’t know what she takes from that, if anything.

“I try not to be either. They don’t get you far. If they can then you’re with the wrong people.” You shake your head. Hating the state of the lanes for a split second so much it makes your heart ache, almost brings you out of whatever remained of the small brain fog you’re in.

“Well. Consider me the right people. Let’s try again.” She says- and you think that it’s her doing you a favour. And it’s one that you don’t want to ruin.

You nod, and when you breathe you have to sniffle a little bit, and you hope she ignores it.

You almost say yes sir. But you think if you did your voice would fail you.

She gives you a moment- but it’s clear enough that’s what she’s doing. Still, you’re almost sure she doesn’t mind. You think she’s probably thinking about how you’ve acted, in here. Your presentation. You don’t know what she’s thinking about it, couldn’t pretend to try, but.

“How long have you been in the job.” She says after another minute. The smell of weed and tobacco intertwined starting to make its way through the room.

“Shorter than some. Longer than I would’ve ever liked.”

“Do you like it.”

“No. Not often, not even at the start. No.” You say- the thought is laughable. Your hands go to your stomach and you don’t even notice.

You don’t laugh. You feel like crying, and for an entirely different reason altogether.

You wouldn’t blame her for being disgusted with you, for continuing to do it. Not when your own disgust with yourself is barely under the surface these days. Not under the surface at all at work.

“Do all your customers hurt you.”

“…A lot of them do.” You whisper. You shrug, like that’ll help mitigate it.

“In what way.”

“Different ones.”

“What’s the most common.”

“No lube. And I’m not exactly- responsive. To them. Hurts when they go in. Hurts most of the time after too.”

You don’t mention how that somehow helps. You think that she’d throw you out if you did. How it feels better that way, when you’re at the end of a long week and bleeding when you shouldn’t be.

She’s quiet for a long moment.

“The one after that?”

“Spanking.” You say- having steeled yourself, your voice slowly getting somewhere past a whisper.

“Did you ever like that?”

You think you might visibly flinch, for what that question does to you.

But you aren’t going to lie about it. Not one bit. You can’t bear to for her anymore. Let alone yourself.

“Very much.”

“Do you like giving people pleasure, still?”

And, well. You have to take a shaky inhale- but.

“…If it’s you, I could see it.”

She makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, and again pauses slightly. Like letting your answers move around her mouth while she chews them. You think that even if you haven’t fucked it with her you’ve fucked something up, tonight. You think that maybe the fact you couldn’t say yes to everyone says something you didn’t want said. Something that can’t be put back in the box.

You swallow. It still doesn’t help. But the position you’re in does. The fact you don’t have to look at her. Or. You don’t think you do. You hope she’d tell you.

“Have you ever been properly trained as a sub.” She asks, her voice too casual for it to be entirely off the cuff. You think she might’ve been thinking about it for a little while, but you’re not sure.

“No.” You say simply, giving a little shrug.

“Mmmm. So you’re a natural. How sweet.” She teases.

You try and blink away your blush and it doesn’t work, not by a long shot. You wonder whether you’ll ever have your natural skin tone again.

“Oh I don’t know about that-“ You get out. You didn’t even realize that’s what it seemed like.

Though even if you were one you doubt Beatrice would’ve asked if you wanted to do a course. Already knew your answer.

“Well. We’ll see.” She says, not quite cutting you off but certainly not letting you fully deny it, either.

You don’t push it.

There’s another few minutes, where you think she finishes her drink. You hope she liked it. You almost ask – but you think that might be speaking out of turn. You don’t want to do that. Despite how you normally are. You don’t want to do that with her. Certainly not tonight.

She sighs to herself, and stands, and although your ears perk up, you don’t do much else. You aren’t sure what she’d want you to do, and so far she’s said or done something that lets you know.

Her boots walk slowly, heavy even on the carpet, and come to a stop behind you. You don’t quite tense- not in a bad way.

When you feel something heavy and pushing between your shoulder blades you go with it. She pushes you down until your cheek is pressed into the carpet. What you now recognize as her boot pressing you down for just a split second longer. As though to let you know just how big it is over your back. Or maybe she just likes the imagery, you’re not sure.

She takes it off, and when she bends down and moves your hands where she’d like them, pulled straight out like you’re prostrating yourself, you let her do that, too.

“Stay here until someone gets you. Just like that.” She says, her voice rumbling pleased through her chest.

“Yes, sir.” You get out, your voice almost shaky. You feel- you don’t know. But it sure is something.

Affected.

You didn’t even realize your eyes were closed till you open them again just slightly when her boots thump towards the door.

But she wants you like this. And so you let her look at you, as though to be sure that you won’t move.

It’s a few moments before she opens the door, but she does; the music of the outside world you forgot existed coming through before she closes the door behind her.

And you stay there, as she wanted. And the world fades again, just that bit. Not quite the way it did before, when she was there- not enough for you to forget it’s surrounding you at all. But it seems less real.

And you find yourself drifting. And calm. In a way you don’t know if you’ve ever been while at work. And that only ever rarely happened before, too. Enough that it’s still novel, and you don’t know what to do about it.

The door opens slowly, after who knows how long. You blink your eyes open blearily and look over to the clock, and then the door, to see who it is.

It’s been an hour- and Beatrice is walking in. You smile softly as you face her, pulling yourself up and then around to sitting, and pretend that you aren’t at least a little bit disappointed.

She closes the door behind her, and smiles herself, watching the way you stretch yourself out after having been in that position for so long.

“Oh, pet. Haven’t you impressed all of us.” She says happily.

“Wha’ya mean?” You slur out, still trying to make your eyes open properly. You feel like you’ve had a nap, though you know you were awake the whole time.

“She’s asked for you, silly. You did well. Really well.”

Relief so palpable you don’t even know if you have the right to feel it swells under your skin. You find yourself letting out a bark of a laugh and pulling your hands through your hair, and happier than you think you’ve been in a while. Even if it’s going to get ruined later, it’s not for nothing. It means no one else is likely to have her for a little while, anyway.

“Oh- thank you, Beatrice. I’m really- thank you. How many hours has she requested? Is it bi-weekly?”

She laughs herself, now, and it’s not quite at your expense, you don’t think. Maybe it’s just at the situation in general.

“No- no, darlin. You don’t understand. She’s bought you out. She’s changed your contract.”

You blink.

She can’t be serious. You refuse to let yourself believe it, not yet.

“I didn’t- can she do that?”

“She’s Silco’s number two, doll. She can do what she pleases.”

“…Is she really?”

“Where have you been, under a rock?”

You blink again.

“So when you say she. She actually did?”

“She actually did.”

“What’s that going to look like?” You ask, barely even daring to hope.

“No more clients. Just her.”

A stranger has just done you the kindest thing anyone’s ever done in your life. And she doesn’t even know that’s what it is, you don’t think.

“I- oh my god. Oh my god.” You get out, and her smile turns kind and understanding and a bit sad in a way you have to ignore. It’s obvious she’s almost as elated as you are, and it might even be for the same reasons.

“You’re going to have to get tested, too. She said she wanted that.”

“No, that’s fine.” You say- you’ve been insisting on that much more than the amount the brothel recommends, anyway.

“Did she, um. Ask for anything else?”

“She said just wear your normal clothing. I don’t think she likes the, uh.” She gestures to out the closed door with the long handle of her cigarette.

You know what she means. It’s not really your preference, either.

“And the- what apart from that did she change in the contract?”

“You’re getting a bump in pay, actually. She’s just bought you out, so it’s as though you’re fully booked. Can you believe that? I said I’d let you have extra breaks so she doesn’t have to pay it but she insisted. Must be quite the jealous type.”

She certainly looks it.

You ignore how happy that makes you.

Only-

“Did she say how often she’d be coming?”

“No. She did say there’s not much chance of her being over before ten any given night, though. That tracks.”

“Do I meet her in this room, or?”

“Oh, it’s yours now. She wanted you and the room. Considering she’s our new biggest client I wasn’t about to try and tack on the room fee. I don’t give a shit.”

“Holy- crap. Um. Okay. Okay. What do- well shit. What do I do now? Tonight?” You ask, blinking over at her again.

“You can damn well go home, poppet. You’ve just bagged her and we have a guarantee of payment. You’ve earned it. I’ll give you a whisky on the way out- hell, I’ll give you your favourite cocktail.”

You think about it. But. Frankly if this is real, and you might as well pinch yourself- you never want to lean on that bar again.

“Oh, no thank you Beatrice, um. I think I’d rather just…”

She sighs, a bit, and you’ve known for a while that she knows how you’ve been feeling. You wonder if she’s as relieved for you as you are. She might be.

“Of course,” she lands on, “I mean. Here, take a fifty and grab an ice cream or something.”

This, you do take. She steps forward, closer to you, and in a more matronly way than she’d ever like to admit to anyone, she puts her small hand on your upper arm, and smiles again at you. Something oddly soft and lilting about it, like she’s wondering whether to say something.

But if she is then she doesn’t say it.

She leaves and you spend a little bit more time looking more specifically at the room. Whether there’s anything you want changed.

You figure that you may as well bring a few books over from home- and then you laugh again at the idea that you might have the pay to be able to just buy some new ones rather than reading the same ten over and over again.

You get yourself sorted out, and slink back into the backroom as quietly as you can, not wanting to attract any of your regulars if they’re milling about. They might not even be your regulars for very much longer. At least not for now. The thought making you so happy you have to take careful breaths so you don’t sob in the middle of the brothel.

You manage it – and with how late it is, that’s a small miracle.

You put your sneakers back on, and grab your stuff. You think about putting the book you did bring into the room but you don’t want to chance having to talk to anyone.

Beatrice is the only one who really needs to know your whereabouts, anyway, and she sure does.

You think about wandering the streets aimlessly but at this time of night it’s not exactly advisable. You write a list of things you need to do tomorrow, but do yourself the favour of picking up some proper food with the fifty you were afforded before you get to your shitty apartment.

You don’t even really remember doing it. You don’t even know what to think. Not apart from the fact that this is the best break that you’ll have had in longer than you like thinking about.

One things for sure- you can’t count on this forever. She’s likely going to get tired in a few weeks, months at best. Those types almost always do.

She’s plagued by work, you’d bet, even though you don’t know a lot about her.

It’s best that you save what you can. Buy a few things here and there, maybe, but for the most part don’t change much.

You mull it over while you make yourself eat, and you don’t feel like you’ve come to any more of a clearer conclusion than you had at the start of the night. You just don’t know what to make of it, not really. What it’ll entail.

You try to tell yourself she’s just like any other client you’ve had but you can’t quite make yourself believe it.

You don’t know whether that means you’ll be even worse off than you thought, in some ways.

She’s paying. She gets to do what she wants with you.

And suddenly you’re back at square one, where you normally are with work.

You’re sad, and angry.

But none of that is going to change tonight, and you can admit to yourself when you’re in the dark to the point that any conclusion you do try and come to is going to say more about you than her.

So you go to bed early, and ignore the anxious feeling in your chest as visions of her face so, so close to yours plague you. The lighter sparking up in a sea of soft red.

You wake up with more than enough time in the morning to get tested and do your groceries for the week- and with the thirty dollars you have left over from Beatrice it doesn’t even stress you the way it normally does. Haggling your way down in a few spots, finally having the energy for it, helps too.

By the time you’re in the backroom and about to put your things away you’re enough in your routine that you almost forget that you don’t have to do any of that.

You make your way cautiously through the den, the winding and twisting, and though a few people you know give you some questioning looks, no one even so much as talks to you. Not even the others.

You wonder if that has something to do with her.

You close the door behind you- and the first real spurt of anxiety that’s something past just plain nerves makes your gut tighten.

You don’t know what to do with yourself. You don’t know how she wants you when she gets there. You take a deep, careful breath, and go through what you think is going to be a tentative routine. Putting your shoes and bag underneath the bed- you don’t think she’d like heels. You don’t think she’d really like sneakers, either, and so like before you just go bare foot.

Or, you’re about to, before you think about talking to Beatrice.

You find her in her office, and she lets you in with a careful smile.

“I just- it feels like such a waste.”

You didn’t mean to start with that but it’s what comes out of your mouth.

“That’s not up for us to decide. I’m not going to complain about it. Are you?”

You look away, but you shake your head.

No.

You’re not.

“What is it you were after, poppet?”

“Honestly? I was hoping we could deep clean the room sometime soon. If it’s just- um. Us. In there. Then…”

“You’re completely right. I should have thought of it. It’s a good excuse to get in the good books, too, make no mistake. I’ll tell her we’ve done it and we won’t be charging her. We want to keep her, do you understand?”

“Of course. I just. I’m worried that I can’t.”

“And why is that?” she asks, her voice turning soft. You want to smile at it but you can’t quite make yourself. She’s been so good to you. Despite it all. Maybe because of it.

“I don’t… Know what she wants from me. I think.”

“Well. You’d better listen out for what that is, then, hadn’t you?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Beatrice. I appreciate it. You.”

Her face softens, now, too, and when she takes another drag of her perpetual cigarette, it seems like she’s talking something over in her head again.

"For how good you’ve been- ah. I don’t know. Maybe I’m too old. I just think there’s more to you than being here.”

You shrug.

“That’s sweet. Thank you.”

“…You’re smart, love. You are. You’ll figure it out. And more than that- from what I saw last night it seems very much as though you want to please her.”

“I think I actually do.”

“Then it will make everything ten times easier.”

“Yeah. Thanks. Oh- I’m all clean.”

“I don’t think I’m the person you have to tell.” She laughs, and you give a tentative smile back.

You go to turn away, but.

“Oh- um. No one’s been talking to me? Is that the new normal?”

“I’m sure it’ll ease up. But… Some of them have good reason not to. You get it.”

“I do.” You say, and you’re telling the truth.

You give another small thank you, and this time you really do make your way back into what is now your room.

You think about kneeling. You do. You think about it more than you’d like to admit.

But you also think that it’s- silly. Not in her presence. It’s you trying to be too eager, not being yourself, and you have to listen to that instinct.

You pull one of the chairs into a corner, making you feel much more safe, and you start reading.

You wake up to Beatrice gently telling you that they’re closed, and she’s about to head home for the morning.

You talk briefly; enough to know they’re changing some things with the room after they do the deep clean. She says she wouldn’t have disturbed you unless they were going to do that, and you believe her.

You don’t know what it is that you’re feeling, when you walk home and try to figure out what to do with your day.

It’s- ridiculous to be disappointed to be paid to do nothing.

It’s even worse to have that mixed with relief. So much relief.

It means that even if you hate it- if you hate her the way you feel visceral disgust at seeing some of your clients, that it’s going to happen less than it ever has. It means that it’s still a break.

And somewhere deeper still, that awful and grotesque hope, that it won’t be like that at all.

You think you want too much. You always do. Every naïve thought you have always shut down- and this is just bound to be one of them, it has to be. There’s no other thing for it.

But you still can’t force yourself to be guarded the way you’d need to be if you didn’t want to be hurt. You just never learned how.

You know Beatrice has been more and more worried about you, and you don’t blame her. You feel almost manic as you waste your day away cleaning to try and get your mind off it.

It doesn’t quite work – and after last night you’re yet again at a loss for what to do.

At least this time when you wave at Penny she waves back, if hesitantly.

Unfortunately one of your regulars also catches your eye. He nods his head back to try and get you to go over to him, but you avert your gaze and keep walking.

Your shoulders can’t stop the way they tense when you walk into the room-

Huh.

You think it looks better this way. The bar at the back shifted to the side and a small table for two set up, the bed less intimidating, in some ways. It’s not enough for you to feel- comfortable. Not today. But depending on how things go you could see yourself getting there. The extra lamp in the corner providing a lighter but still relaxed swathe of yellow.

You frown at how the more comfortable chair you dragged into the corner is still there, seemingly untouched.

All in all, though, the room smells like cleaning chemicals, for now. And you’ll be more than happy with that for today.

You take your shoes off, and though you spend half an hour debating whether or not to you end up sitting right there again.

The door opens at about half past ten, and you blink up blearily from your page, seeing her walk into the room and take a second to see you.

You scramble up, going to put your book down-

“Mark the page.” She says, and you actually want to laugh more genuinely than you thought you would while you do.

She waits for you to walk up to her, and you do, if hesitantly.

God. She is tall. She must be pushing six foot five. You have to tilt your head so much to talk to her. And she’s built. Maybe it’s how her cape falls, but. No. No, she’s pure muscle and strength, and it shows, and she knows it.

“Hi.” You say- sudden nerves making a small blush coat your cheeks.

She raises an eyebrow. It’s not unhappy. You don’t think.

You want to ask where she was, but. That’s rude, you know it is.

“How was your night?” You ask instead. Barely registering how your hands are grasped nervously in front of you.

“Ugh. Uneventful.” She says, gently moving further into the room.

You almost ask what she’d like to do first, but. From the first time she was here you know she’ll tell you.

And so you just follow her lead, and walk further into the room yourself, just behind her. Not wanting to scare her.

The idea of you scaring her is so laughable that you almost do.

“Are you hungry?” She asks, putting the bag you didn’t notice in her metal hand onto the table.

You wouldn’t normally accept anything a client told you to eat. They could’ve drugged it. It’s just policy.

But frankly, if she wants you drugged, you don’t think you’re in any position to say no.

It makes you sad, and scared, but.

“I could eat.” You say, softer than you’d like.

She gestures to the other chair and you sit in it.

“Do you eat takeout often, sir?” You ask before you really mean to. Add the honorific on before you really mean to, too.

“Every fucking night.” She sighs.

“Oh?”

“That or restaurant food. Pisses me off.”

“Why’s that?”

She almost doesn’t answer, you don’t think, but there must be something genuine enough in your voice that she lets herself as she’s dishing up.

“I have to compensate every damn morning. I don’t maintain this from nothing, and I don’t do it for fucking nothing, either.”

“Ah.” You say, nodding your head, and trying very hard not to blush at the reminder of her body in general. You think you might fail.

The dread picks up after that, and you feel so nauseas you almost don’t want to eat- but you tell yourself that’ll pass, and like usual you can swallow it. Literally and figuratively.

She seems to either not notice your internal war or she doesn’t mention it. She’s almost half way through by the time you manage to start. You think that might’ve been the right move, anyway, for the way her gaze flickers to yours before back down to her food.

“I just, um.” You start.

“You just what.”

“I guess I just don’t know what to- expect?” You laugh.

“Be here when I am. Do what I ask as much as you can. There isn’t much else.” She says simply.

“But- my clothes?”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“Do you like them?”

“Who gives a shit?”

“You’re- allowed to?”

She rolls her eyes, but-

“Yeah. I like them fine. Just. Wear whatever you usually do. None of that shit.”

“I cannot tell you how much of a relief that is.” You say blandly, and she laughs.

“It would be a change.” She says after a minute. She must’ve been thinking it over more.

You finish your bite before you speak.

“I’m used to somewhere between three and five a night and coming home exhausted and. Well.”

“Yeah. I hear that.” She snorts.

“Did you just- not want to share?”

“No. I didn’t.”

You don’t ask if it’s because that’s what she was planning the whole time or because it was you. It’s probably the former.

You don’t want to think about what type of pay she’s getting that she can afford this. You also don’t want to think about the alternative to that. You don’t feel as bad taking someone’s money when they’re a cunt to you anyway, but. She’s not. More than that, she’s treating you like a person, so far. A proper person. The idea that she’d be spending half her salary on you makes your stomach churn already and it’s not even a week in.

“What does your day to day look like?” You ask instead. Trying to distract yourself.

“It depends. Sorting cargo, keeping all sorts in line. Trying to keep people on track. Beating ass, sometimes. Dealing with the fucking- brats. Fireflies."

You let out a little whistle. They’re nothing to sneeze at, from what you’ve heard. Which admittedly isn’t much.

Maybe you do live under a bit of a rock.

“I still don’t know what to think about it. It doesn’t feel real. It’s… Thank you. Even if you change your mind, or. Just. Yeah.” You say before you chicken out.

“You didn’t seem to like your job. Will this extend to that?”

“Would you like me to tell you if it does?”

“Yes. Fucking obviously.” She says, something caged in her voice.

“But. What if-“ you go to say, but her nose curls in anger and disgust and her eyes tighten, and.

“Yeah. Okay.”

“You say red.”

“I’ll say red, sir.”

“And if that means saying it a lot, you say it a lot.” She says forcefully- half snarling. Her jaw more clenched than you think she really has any right to be. You don’t understand why she’s so upset- but she is.

“…Yes, sir.” You say softly.

She softens. Looks away like she can’t bear to look at you at all and you try not to feel sickened for that. But then she looks back to you.

“You’re not used to what I want. That’s fine. You’ll get there.”

You nod in agreement. No, you’re not.

“I still feel like I don’t know what that is.”

“You will. You’ll figure it out. You figured it out last time. You’ll do it again.”

“…You mean. How I felt?”

“Mostly. You’re a natural. We have some kinks to work out, but.” She shrugs, like that’s nothing.

“I’m not being paid to tell you no.” You frown.

“I am paying you to fucking tell me no. Because I’m paying you to do as I say. That means my rules. My rules are fucking stop, and don’t overextend. You feel disgusting? Too fucking bad. You say so.”

“What happens when I say so.” You ask- not quite upset, but something close to it.

“Depends what I think you need.” She summarizes. You think maybe the concepts she’s chucking at you aren’t actually that easily verbalizable. Whatever it is it’s obvious that unlike some of them she doesn’t want you to be upset.

“So… You don’t want me to ask to have sex.”

“Not unless you’re going to beg genuinely.” She says – again, more matter of fact than you can keep up with.

It’s making your head spin.

“Did you not like it last time.” She frowns.

“No! No- I did. I. um. Got all… It was nice.” You land on.

“Good.” She says- not quite smiling, she looks too tense for that, you think. But. Better.

“I’m sorry.” You say lamely.

“Don’t apologize. Not unless it’s for something you think I want to hear a fucking apology for.”

“…Yes, sir.”

She sighs.

“The last few days weren’t what I wanted.”

“From work?”

“No.” She says, but she doesn’t elaborate.

“…Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” You ask, and it’s genuine, and you think she hears it.

The both of you just sit there for a second- and it’s a second you manage not to get anxious for. Not until you realize what it is that implies, anyway, and then it blooms so fast in your chest you think you might go a little bit ashen.

She tilts her head and regards you for another minute before she gives a little half smile, mostly to herself. Her brow raising.

“Kneel in front of me.” She says- and you even almost manage to convince yourself that you won’t feel disgusting when you eat her out. You can certainly try.

You stand from your place, and sink as gracefully as you can to your knees, just barely in front of her.

You think you’re going to be proven right, when she swings herself around to face you, her thighs opening while she does.

But then you hear crinkling, and realize she’s picking something else out of the bag she brought, and it’s your turn to frown.

“Clean my hands off.” She says, putting two boxes into your hands.

“…Yes, sir.” You say, something fluttering gently in your chest. Something settling, for now, too. A buffer between this moment and what you have to do when you’re done. It gives you time to ease yourself into the idea.

You spend a few moments looking through the contents while she takes her cape off and drapes it purposefully onto the back of her chair.

You aren’t sure whether she normally takes it off so nonchalantly. You think maybe she doesn’t- but you don’t know what that means, and it doesn’t have anything to do with you, you don’t think, and so you aren’t about to comment on it.

There’s a box for her human hand and for her other.

She puts her metal hand out and so you put that box on your thigh, and she steps you through the cleaning process. Her voice low and- soothing. Surprisingly soothing. Every once in a while she’ll say something in a way that makes a shiver go down your spine, makes you nod your head down even further to focus on the careful way you’re cleaning through her fingers and compartments. You get engrossed with it.

She gently pulls it back when you’re done, and she puts her other hand in yours, the stark contrast between cold and the warm of her skin making you sink even further. How big her hand is, too. You think you wouldn’t even be able to wrap your hands fully around her forearms. She uses her hands and it shows. They’re thick, too, and lovely and calloused, you can see that as you twist it around in your own. You feel almost self conscious- almost- and you look up under your eyelashes at her.

She has a self satisfied look on her face. There’s a split second where you want her hand to cup your face, to grab at your hair- and though you get startled, it doesn’t do much to stop you from feeling how you are. Just the same as the last time you saw her. Her magnetic pull too great. You tear yourself down and away and re-focus on what it is she’d like you to actually do, grabbing the other box and starting.

You’re more clumsy in your movements than you mean to be, but you still give genuine precision with the manicure that you give her hand, the careful way you trim and clean her cuticles, oiling her nails. There’s no nail polish, and so you don’t use any, but the work is delicate and takes a while as is.

Even then you get a bit lost in it.

And still, as the time ticks on you start wondering when to expect her to do- something. To try something.

You whine just a little when you place her hand onto her thigh for her, when you can no longer try and elongate the process. Though that’s more because you realize just how deep and even your breathing was than anything else.

“That was very well done. We’ll be doing that again. I enjoyed that.” She says, and you feel almost dizzy when you pull your jaw up to look at her, and she smiles down at you.

“Up.” She says, and you stand- her hand on your hip steadying you when you almost lose your balance for the pins and needles in your feet.

You make a soft sound, flinching at it- though you don’t know whether that’s because you want more of the feeling or less. Her hand is just so- big. The strength in it undeniable even as she’s not using it.

She leads you over to where you were, and you almost want to frown.

“What’re we-“

“We’re done for the night.” She says, setting you down and into it and handing you the book you had.

“What?”

“You did well. And now we’re done.” She reiterates.

“Did I- was it-“

“You were good. I enjoyed that. It relaxed me.” She says, maybe more plainly than she would otherwise.

You look at her, blinking blearily. And you realize that, yes, she’s telling the truth- the set of her shoulders and the clench in her jaw are both gone.

“Oh. Oh, good.” You say distantly, and she laughs.

You want more of that sound. Admitting that to yourself, even like this, makes you feel- something. Greedy, maybe.

She goes back over to the table and shoves a bottle of water into your other hand.

“I want you to sip that until you feel stable, and then I want you to read for a half an hour. And then I want you to go home.”

You nod, a dopey smile you can’t quite stop forming. You don’t even have the brain power to really think about what it was you were anxious about at the start of the night, yet, let alone unpack that it didn’t happen.

“Oh- oh. I forgot to say. I’m clean. I got tested like you asked.”

“Good girl. Good to know.” She says softly, watching the way you shiver involuntarily.

And then she leaves.

You do as she asked, and once again even as you’re leaving you feel like you just woke up from a nap.

It’s a quiet time of the night. It took longer than you thought it did. You don’t even think you’re seen as you slip out.

And this time when you come back the next day it feels less- scary. It feels less scary. Because you know she didn’t have any problem with the way you were reading.

It’s not quite payday yet, and so you still haven’t been able to afford the book you’ve had your eye on- but you did find something that’s. Well. Good enough, and for cheap. And you think Beatrice would want you to give yourself even a little treat out of all of this. You don’t feel nearly as happy as you did about the fact that it’s just her paying you already, and you think it has something to do with what hasn’t been happening with her, and something more besides that you can’t quite name yet, but. You can’t pinpoint why.

She doesn’t come that night, either. You find yourself almost disappointed, and you don’t know where to put that.

Maybe it’s not even almost. At least- not for what it is you’ve already done. You might not know how to categorize how you felt, but you’ll be damned if you don’t like it.

You haven’t felt like that in- a long time.

And certainly not having it be nearly as all encompassing.

But you’re feeling more secure that she’ll come back at all, and the next few nights over again you’re proven right. Doing very similar things as you were. Something that continues for a while- you’re all but settled into the routine after a few weeks. Still no closer to understanding what feels so – off, about being paid. You aren’t even using it yet. You keep telling yourself you will later but it never happens. And she’s still just doing the same things.

"Wouldn’t you rather eat with your coworkers?” You ask midway through another meal, and she laughs.

“You could count on one hand the people there I give a singular shit about.” She replies, easy as anything.

“That’s a shame.”

“Oh?”

You shrug.

“I don’t – mean to be rude. It just seems…”

“I’m paying for this,” she says, gesturing between the two of you, “I don’t care if it looks lonely or not.”

It strikes a nerve and you don’t even know what nerve it struck. You ignore it pretty successfully to be able to pay more attention to the actual conversation and you file it away for later.

“Right. Only- that’s not what I was going to say. Honest.”

She blinks. Her eyes conveying something that you don’t know how to decipher. They’re so expressive.

“What were you going to say.”

“That it’s easier to work somewhere when you know someone has your back.” You shrug.

“No one has your back, here. Anywhere.” She shakes her head.

“…They do the best with what they’re given, sir.”

“Sevika.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t seem to know. It’s Sevika. If we aren’t- it’s nice, that you’re so polite. It’s sweet. But if I’m not in the middle of things you can just say my name. Every once in a while.”

“…Thank you, Sevika.” You say softly, a blush gracing your cheeks when you wish it didn’t, looking down and away so that you don’t just crumble into the chair completely.

She still looks smug when you look back up.

“Let me guess. You think they’re given jack shit.” She says when you do.

“…That’s one way to put it. I think everyone down here is.”

“Some deal with it better than others.”

“I count mental resources as being given something.” You summarize, shrugging again.

“Interesting way of looking at it.”

“If you want to call it that. Sir.” You say, somewhat cheekily.

She laughs again just the way you wanted and it makes something in your chest clench. That you got that out of her. The way her nose scrunches up makes you want to do- something. You haven’t had this feeling in so long you don’t even know what that something is. You seem to have a lot of unknowns around her.

You shift a bit in your seat and this time she reaches across the table to grab at your hand and pull to direct you rather than saying anything, and you happily stand and walk round to sink to your knees again below her. The size difference still makes your knees wobbly, and you’re glad you don’t have to use them.

If you thought that having done it before would ease some of the feelings, you were wrong.

Though-

“Are you alright, sir?” You ask softly when you see the way she’s shaking out her arm.

“Good enough. Still just a bit tight.” She shrugs.

“Will you let me help?”

She furrows her brows like she’s not sure.

“Please. Sir. I’d like to. I… Like this. I want to do things for you.” You say even softer. Letting your hand squeeze over her metal knuckles where you were cleaning it to show her you mean it. You do.

“Mmmm. Yes, go on.” She allows, her head tilting again like she’s taking something in that you didn’t mean to let her see. You think she can probably read you a whole lot better than you can read her, for now. But you want to learn.

She swaps her hands over, and you brush a kiss against her knuckles before you even mean to. Her hand twitches like she was surprised, but you ignore it. It feels like something she’d appreciate you ignoring.

“Good girl.” She breathes. It makes your stomach flip and it’s not even all bad.

“Thank you.” You whisper back. It feels like doing something for her- anything. And it doesn’t even make you uncomfortable.

You give her the same manicure, getting lost in the steps, and you feel a special kind of rush from the fact you were right, when you lathe some massage oil over her forearm. You can’t wrap one hand around it.

“Your hands are so small.”

“They’re not. They’re average.” You say on impulse.

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” She laughs.

You grumble a bit, but she seems even happy with that. Like it’s proof that you’re less nervous.

It is.

You’re almost surprised when she shifts in her seat slightly, realizing distantly that she’s definitely been doing that the whole time, too, and you were too far gone to notice.

As it is you’re pretty far gone now, but at least now that you’re even a bit more used to the feeling you can still do something with it.

It still takes your brain a while to catch up on why she would be shuffling around like that, but you can recognize it.

You wage a war in your head whether to act on it, and then you realize that the gentle thrumming of your pulse hasn’t been coming from just your chest in a while.

It comes as a surprise. That you’re turned on, and calm. You can’t even manage that by yourself anymore. The recognition of it kicks you out of what you were feeling in a way she notices.

“Red?” She asks, frowning already- but you shake your head.

“You said you’d tell me. You fucking better.” She says harshly, but you’re understanding enough to recognize the overcompensation. Where it’s coming from.

You don’t know why, you don’t for the life of you know why, but she’s worried about making you uncomfortable. Really worried.

“I’m not feeling anything wrong.” You say instead. Picking your words carefully. Not wanting to say.

“Something freaked you out.” She replies back, though quietly, and soothing.

“I liked it too much.” You say, as deviating around the actual thing as you can be, and you think she understands, and she settles back down. And so do you.

Enough that you think that asking, even a little bit, might be worth it. Pushing. You just want-

You want to be good to her.

You finish, and put the hand back onto her thigh and then go to shuffle, to go closer-

She tuts, and pulls her chair back in one smooth motion, and suddenly her boot is on your lap and half pinning you in place just as is. You flicker your eyes up and you lose your breath from the way she’s already got her brow raised and the way she’s looking down at you from her chin.

You look back down and swallow. You don’t know why. Maybe the way that you can see it against you, see how far up it goes against your stomach. Her feet are just as big as the rest of her.

You don’t know where to go with any of it and this time when your eyes flicker up and settle on her crotch it’s just because a throb of want goes through you. The way her lower stomach and her v lines are showing even sitting down. Your teeth sing and you realize you want to bite. The whole thing is going to make you feel awful, later, but for right now you just can’t quite find the disgust.

She snorts, and it’s likely at your expense, and you can’t imagine meeting her eye when it’s obvious what you’re thinking about doing. You don’t know why it feels so awful and vulnerable now that you actually want it at least partially, but here you are. You think that by itself might prohibit you from being able to do it- you’d get too stuck in your head, you think.

She probably knows that. Either that or she’s going off of something else you’re giving out that you don’t know about, because she gestures down and-

“Clean my boot, there’s a good girl.” She says, and her voice comes out gravelly and thick like honey, it’s downright sultry.

Your breath gets caught heavy in your chest, and you think you choke back a whine when you nod. You’re almost glad for the moment of anxious clarity you had earlier- you think you would’ve embarrassed yourself otherwise.

You look down-

“…They are clean.” You frown, tilting your head in confusion at it.

And- yes. In comparison to what they should be, they’re downright sparkling.

“No, they’re not. You haven’t cleaned them yet. Go on.” She says- she almost coos at you. The gentle encouragement getting to you more than maybe it even should.

You’re still foggy, still catching up, and you look around for a box and there’s nothing- and then you understand what she means, and the world goes quiet.

You think you might cry, and it’s not from anything bad, not at all.

It finally feels like you’re doing something for her as you tilt your head down and crane your neck. When you let yourself tentatively lick at her boot you can taste the leather and the cleaning product, though you’re sure she would’ve gotten rid of that to the point it won’t hurt you, too.

“Keep going.” She says- and you do.

You lathe over her until her boot is shiny, the small bubbles dripping down the sides.

“Oh, you like doing that, don’t you.” She says, almost to herself- but it still makes you look up, barely having even realized how dizzy you were until you do.

You see her with half lidded eyes, tilted to the side in her chair so she can rest her fingers to her temple as she regards you. You think she’s been watching you the whole time.

She switches her boots over, and arches her brow at you, and you just dip your head and start again.

“What a good girl.” You hear through half-deaf ears.

You’re not really sure how long you’re there, but she eventually pulls you away, shushing you when you whine.

“Back on your butt, yeah, perfect.” She mutters, pressing her hands gently on your shoulders and helping you lean back. You intend to keep kneeling, you think, on instinct, but she keeps pushing and then you’re just sitting regularly.

You’re plain dizzy, not thinking of anything at all. Being steadied by her grip. You almost feel like you’re not really tethered to your body. It’s lovely.

She hesitates slightly, but her regular hand reaches up to your hair and pushes it gently behind your ear, and you’re closing your eyes and pushing into it before you really mean to.

“You did very, very well. Stay there.” She says- and you nod dumbly into her hand.

Her thumb gently caresses under your eye, and then you think she leaves, but she’s back so quickly you can’t be sure.

Someone knocks politely on the door and you flinch, slamming back into your body so quickly that your stomach drops. You see the frown she gets before she’s gone from sight, but then she’s back.

“Here, baby, have this.” She says, not letting you grab the piece of chocolate she has in her hand as she feeds it to you. You still take it, blush raging as the self consciousness of whatever happened sets in.

She lets you take the rest from her, but then when you finish chewing she brings a water bottle up to your lips and ignores the way you whine a bit before you start drinking it.

She stays there, crouched and watching, while you come back to yourself- the fact she’s there making you feel better.

“What are you doing to me.” You get out, trying to make a joke of it, and she laughs the way you wanted.

“Something good.”

“For you too?”

“For me too.” She says lowly. Watching the blush that only just went away spreading back over your face.

You expect her to leave like she has been, but she doesn’t.

“Um- are you going to go home?”

“I’m walking you home first.”

“Um. Are you sure-“

“Yes I’m sure.”

You want to ask her why. Even as you blink up at her.

You also want to kiss her. Just a little bit.

You tell yourself that’s the combination of whatever insane chemicals she’s making your brain go through.

You can’t quite believe it, but. Oh well.

You don’t do either. You just nod.

And she does. Walks you all the way back to yours. And somewhere between walking out into the brothel and walking through the streets makes you more aware of everything- less like you were. By the time you get home you’re back to baseline, although feeling like you had a really nice massage half an hour ago.

“You live in a shithole.” She half sneers.

“That’s my shithole you’re talking about young lady.” You say back- and this time when she laughs she looks more caught out than ever. You think she didn’t expect it.

And for now, you can ignore the guilt you feel, after you say goodbye more genuinely and you get settled for bed. When it feels awful that you had such a good time- felt so pleasured.

It doesn’t feel like what you normally do.

Not at all.

It feels like something better. Like something you shouldn’t be getting paid for.

You get your money again the next day and even when counting it up and being frankly astounded-

You feel guilty. That’s not even an encompassing enough word, you feel plain fucking awful.

Beatrice notices, of course she does, sure she has the last few time, too- and she gives you a few placating words. That she wouldn’t be doing it if she didn’t want to, or didn’t think it was worth it. But it doesn’t help the way you wish it would.

It feels wrong. It feels like you’re cheating the system- or maybe just her.

And still, that’s the routine for months in their entirety. You get used to slinking your way through the brothel to get to your room- and she comes more often than not, and it’s obvious at this point it’s her work that’s keeping her away. You probably should’ve clocked it sooner.

She’s been loosening you up, you know. Keeping the main routine with things that make the both of you feel- good, for a lack of a better word.

Sometimes she’s been taking you out of routine. Maybe to show you that you can do different things without being upset. It works better than you anticipated- makes you excitedly anxious for what’s next.

She tested your flexibility, shoved you this way and that, and despite it, the way your body throbbed when she pushed you further than you normally go- she didn’t ask for more, and when she didn’t just take it, either, you got comfortable. You didn’t realize you were uncomfortable with touch before then- but she makes sure to do it more often. She’ll lay a hand on the small of your back more often than not when walking you home.

She’ll ask you to stay in an uncomfortable position for as long as possible, carefully watch the way that you whine and fight against yourself.

You almost ask for more. It’s on the tip of your tongue.

You think you will, soon. You think you won’t be able to help it.

And you also think that maybe that’s okay. That you want it. When it’s with her.

The understanding that you’re more disgusted than ever with your former clients when you catch glimpses of them as you walk through makes that easier.

Though you still think it would be- pushing it. Today. If you asked.

But you realized last night that she’s probably jacking it when she gets home instead of doing it with you, and you don’t know how to take that. Honestly you think you’ve just taken it pretty badly. You want to make her feel good- you’re being paid to make her feel good, and despite the way she’s saying you do, it doesn’t feel like enough.

And you wouldn’t hate it. You wouldn’t. You can convince yourself you wouldn’t because you think you’re right.

“What’re you thinking about?” Startles you from it, the gentle way her hand pushes your hair back.

You laugh a little and shake your head, shuffling your chair even closer.

“Nothing important. I’m sorry.” You say, waving it off.

She shrugs a bit, though you know she’s probably still curious.

It’s funny how your chairs have migrated closer and closer over time- they’re right next to each other now, and it’s not uncommon for the two of you to lean even closer during conversation.

“I’m curious.” She says anyway.

“Just mulling something over.” You say.

“No, not about that.”

“Uh-huh.” You say incredulously, and she laughs.

“You’re too smart for this.” She says.

“For conversation? I don’t know I think sometimes I have to keep up with you.”

“Flatterer. No- this.” She says, gesturing around to where you are.

“Well. I could say the same thing.” You say, for once lifting your own eyebrow.

“What? With Silco?”

“Yeah. You’re too fucking smart for those pricks.”

“Well. Most of them-“

“All of them.” You roll your eyes.

“You don’t mean Silco.”

“I do mean Silco.”

“He’s a good leader.”

“You’re a good leader. He’s not a good leader. He’s not even a good boss.”

“What the fuck do you mean.”

“He has you doing- goon shit. When you’re his second. He constantly sends you out to do things that are below you.”

“I get other people to do shit half the time. If it works it works. It’s called delegation.”

“It’s called direction. You’re scared of him.”

Her hand twitches where it is in your hair but you don’t flinch. You might be scared but you don’t get scared of her, not anymore. The problem is when it feels like it’s not her anymore.

“Who fucking said that.”

“No one. Not a single person. But it’s in the way you behave.”

“I’ll show you how to fuckin-“ She cuts herself off, her nostrils flared and that same look in her eyes that you now know how to identify.

“You do. You constantly do.” You say softly.

The hand twitches again and then she grips your cheek and you just lean into it.

“I want you happy. I want good things for everyone.”

“Silco’s the way to get that. Vander wasn’t doing shit.”

“No. But Vander would never have flooded drugs worse than anything anyone’s ever seen into our streets so that a scientist can keep fucking around behind closed doors.”

“It’s a necessary evil.”

“Sevika. Sevi,” you say, your own hands clutching around hers, holding her closer to you, knowing she’s listening, “that’s you admitting you think he’s committed evil. That doesn’t sound like something the ruler of Zaun would do to me.”

Her eyes are darting between the both of yours and you think maybe you should shut up but you just can’t.

“And that’s just what I know about it- and I know that I don’t know jack shit. I don’t know what else he’s done, and I don’t want to hear it. I just… I don’t know. I want you to think about it.”

“…I will.” She says, metallic thumb rubbing under your eye. You smile a little and huff your breath and turn into her palm to kiss it, cold against your lips.

She makes a soft noise in the back of her throat and if you were around anyone else you’d call it a grunt but you just can’t.

“…Like I said. You’re too fuckin smart to be here. Too pretty, too.” She says, flashing what you’re now realizing is her signature flirt smirk, and you laugh, but something in your chest also aches.

You shrug, and you try to laugh but you just kind of choke and then suddenly you’re shaking your head and when you blink something hot spills onto your cheek.

“Hey- hey. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay? We don’t have to talk about it.”

“But now you’re going to be worried.” You blubber out.

“I was already worried, it’s no different.” She says, and you’ve never wanted to kiss her more.

Only you think she wouldn’t like that and that makes you want to curl up inside.

“It’s only fair. I just. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Why would anyone get hurt.”

“I think you’re- going to want to hurt someone. If I tell you.”

“If I do then it’ll be because they deserve it.”

You just shake your head.

“It wasn’t his fault.” You say softly.

Her eyes darken and you know you have to tell her now.

You want to climb straight onto her lap but something’s stopping you. Maybe just the fact you haven’t done it before.

You just grip at the hand that she has strewn on the table and cling to it like it’s a lifeline. You take deep breaths like it’ll help but it doesn’t- but starting talking does.

“I used to work odd jobs a lot. Assisting, one day receptionist roles, that kind of thing. Um. And on the walk to and from, you- say hi to people, you know? And. And this guy. Uh. Ha. He was up almost as late as I was when I was walking home, and I. Looking back I don’t know if he actually. Thought what he said he did or not. But I wasn’t- thinking that at the time. Um. We talked, and I wasn’t- comfortable, per say, but I wasn’t uncomfortable? And he said it might be nice to stop at a place for a drink and I said okay because I’d had just. The worst day. It seems so- silly. So stupidly silly, but I’d gotten fired, and-“

“What for?”

“What did I get fired for?”

She nods, and you manage a pathetic laugh.

“I talked back to my boss and told them how to actually fix the problem they kept calling me in for.”

“They didn’t agree with you?”

“Not one bit.”

“I see.”

“So. Um. Yeah. So I was having a bad day, and. We went- here. And I thought it was just a bar. I didn’t even get out of my regular clothes, and of course I saw everyone everywhere but I thought that was probably just par for the course? And no one said anything to me. And we were… Chatting. I guess you could call it chatting, but he started. Um. Asking a lot of – personal questions, and touching my thigh. And I thought wow this is too much but I didn’t say anything because I thought I’d just make a polite enough excuse in a couple of minutes. And uh. He said something to the bartender and then he pointed down a hall and. Um.” You shrug again.

“…You don’t have to say it. I get the gist.”

“Well- well no. Because he. Paid me, after.” You say, and her face tightens even more and her hand clenches at yours back.

“And I needed the money?” You try and get out but it’s high pitched and caught in your throat and awful.

“Have some water.” She says, and you do immediately, and it helps a bit.

“And I. I talked to- well. No. That’s not quite… Beatrice found me.”

“And you didn’t leave?”

“I- I needed the money.”

“…Did you ever see him again.” She says and you laugh. Just out of habit. There’s nothing funny in it. Not at all.

“I saw him twice the week before you got here.”

“Who is he.”

“Not telling.”

“Not- you’re not serious.”

“I don’t want someone to- like I said. I don’t want someone to get hurt because of a-“

“If you fucking say a mistake, I’m going home.” She says, though the way you choke on your inhale makes her regret it.

“I couldn’t tell you anyway. The name he gave me was the one he uses here and nowhere else. It’s meaningless.”

“Does it change?”

You shrug but nod.

“…If he touches you again he’s dead.”

“He won’t.”

“Has he talked to you?”

“He’s. Tried to get me to go over like normal but I just come in here.”

“Keep it that way.”

“Yes sir.” You say softly- and you swear she almost flinches.

“You’ve never been in a situation where you should’ve said red and you didn’t?”

“No, sir.”

“You better fucking not have. Do you understand me?”

“I do, sir.”

“Tell me what it is that you understand.”

“That it matters to you.” Is as good as you can get.

She takes a second to breathe and to think and when she talks next she manages to sound almost normal. It’s impressive.

“You still don’t think it matters to you, then.”

“….You’re paying.”

“Oh, baby, we’ve got a long way to go.” She sighs.

“I’m-“

“Fucking don’t.”

“-sorry.” You say softly, looking down and away and trying to stop your breath from hitching. It doesn’t even work.

“No. No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that happened. I’m sorry it kept happening. I’m sorry for what shit cunts have done to you, and it won’t be happening again.”

You smile, and there’s enough relief in it that she takes it. Even if you’re still convinced this is only temporary.

“I’ve, uh. I’ve never asked.” You say, to try and salvage something of an atmosphere.

“Mmm?”

“Where do you get most of the food from? I just kind of presumed the last drop gave it to you for free, but.”

“No. I have to pay.”

“Jackasses.” You say, and she laughs.

You feel even worse after you realize that means she’s paying even more just to spend it on you.

God.

She still lets you slip down between her legs, and though she spends a few moments with her elbows on her knees and just. Looking at the way you look up at her, things going on behind her eyes that you haven’t seen before, you look back.

She sighs, and leans down further, and knocks your foreheads together. Your breath gets lost somewhere in your chest, and your eyes close, and when you breathe in it just smells like her.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you.” She says- and somehow you think it’s more to reassure herself than it is you. Even then it still makes you melt.

“I am. You do.” You say, and you don’t even think that it’s possible for her to know all the ways you mean that.

You’d do this with her even if you weren’t getting paid, and that thought is slowly starting to tear your heart out.

But she leans back up after another split second, another huff of her breath- and she presents her metal hand.

You don’t even know why you’re relieved. You kiss the palm of it, this thing that’s seen so much violence, more than you know- and you don’t mean to but you blink water onto it.

“Shit- so-“

“Don’t. Please don’t.” She says, and her own voice is thick.

You look up and her nose is pulled up and her eyebrows are scrunched together and she’s still just looking at you. She looks the angriest you’ve ever seen her but you know it’s not at you.

“Sir- Sevika. Sevika- you’re. You’re okay. I’m okay. It is. It’s alright.” You say softly, not even sure why she’s like this even as it’s affecting you in turn. Of course it is.

She sighs, and she swallows, but she nods. And she brings herself back down, and you think maybe she’s going to kiss you outright, and such a big part of you wants that-

And she kisses your cheek, her nose brushing against the skin under your eye, and your eyes drift closed as you soak in the feeling of her soft skin against yours. The way her breath is short and sharp in a way you didn’t expect but that matches your own.

“Don’t apologize again. Don’t.” She says, barely pulling away.

“I won’t.” You whisper.

“Good girl.” She says, and purses her lips again against your cheek in reward. You shiver.

She brushes her nose against yours but she pulls back, and this time when more tears fall onto her metal hand you don’t apologize-

And she talks you through the instructions of how to clean it again, though you don’t need it. Her voice washing over you and soothing you. By the time you’re done with her regular manicure you feel almost like you normally do.

She stops you there and you know it’s not because you’ve done anything bad.

She walks you home, and this time her human hand is wrapped all the way around your shoulders, and you let her hold you close to her even though it makes the feeling last so much longer.

She tells you to drink water before you go to bed and you say you will and she knows you’ll do what she says.

She seems to hesitate for a second but she pulls her cape off and puts it over yours. You don’t know why she’s done that but you don’t say anything – you’re too scared she’ll take it back. It smells like her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She says.

“Okay. What time?”

“Probably closer to eleven than ten. We have a big shipment.” She grumbles.

“That’s okay. I’ll still get to see you.” You say.

Her head makes an odd jolting motion, and she stammers in her response a bit, and then she’s gone. But that’s okay.

You do as she says and when you go to bed you’re pleasantly surprised to find you sleep through the night. You don’t normally do that. More than that it’s well into the morning.

You ignore that you had her cape on your pillow.

You have a few things you need to do around the house that keep you occupied for a surprising amount of the time, and when you’re done you do basically have to go. You find yourself hesitating with which clothes to wear, and go for something more risky than you have lately.

It makes you half run into the room when you’re going through the rest of the brothel, but.

You think she notices. The way her eyes flicker over your form makes it feel worth it. You even find that you don’t mind it.

You didn’t even realize that being awkward during the dinner was something you were worried about until it doesn’t happen. You tell her that her cape is in your backpack but she says to keep it for a little while and so you’re going to.

She tells you to kneel and there’s something softer in it but you still do. She puts her boot in your lap, and you look at it and then back up to her. Seeing how she’s so- her want is more plain on her face than it normally is. Maybe it’s more than just that, too. Something you can’t quite identify despite how good at reading her you are by now. It makes you realize she’s been guarding it, being careful of it. And all for you.

Your breath goes shaky and part of you isn’t sure it’s a good idea but you just can’t help it. You spread your own legs slightly so that her boot falls onto the floor and then you push forward and onto it so that you can reach up and try to grab at her belt. You can’t even reach and so you fall further forward and let your hands touch her thigh and squeeze a bit and they tingle and it feels good and bad and awful and guilty and it’s all swirling in your gut and it’s worse for the fact you know you do want it. You don’t know why that makes it worse- maybe just the fact she’s paying for it. She’s paying for it and you want it and you want her. And you’re going to ask anyway.

“Sevi- sir. Please.” You get out thickly.

“Please?” She asks, and it’s almost mocking, and it makes you groan and push up into her boot a bit and that sends sparks you weren’t ready for up your spine.

“I- I need to please you. I do. I want to. I want to so badly. I really do. I want that so much I don’t even- know what to do with it. It’s so much.”

“Is it too much?” She asks instead.

“I- I dunno-“

“Does it feel bad? In your chest?”

“A little.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m not supposed- to like it. You’re paying me.”

“We’ve been over this.”

“I know.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“Y-yes, sir. I think so.”

She looks at you for a long moment- and then she curses.

Her metal hand winds carefully through your hair and you let it. It grabs at the back, and the grip seems light enough that it doesn’t even hurt. It just feels nice. Steady. Stable.

Her other hand go to her belt and you’re trying to shove yourself forward-

Her boot presses into your stomach to keep you back harshly and her grip doesn’t move from your hair and it hurts so beautifully and you whine. Half from that and half from being stopped.

“No. No touching.” She says sharply.

“But- Sir-“

“No touching.” She growls as she finishes pulling her zipper down.

You almost want to cry when she plunges her hand into her pants. You feel so pathetic and some of that is good and some of it is bad but that just makes the good more palpable and you don’t know what to do with that. Your breath wet and gasping as you look on as she gets herself off, not even letting you even see her cunt.

You want to see it. Her. You do. In the moment as you are that’s all you want- you don’t even care. You just want her.

“Sir- I-“

“I told you to beg.” She grunts, and you choke on your breath and you try to nod and you can’t and then you let something out closer to a moan than you’d like but it makes her hike her other leg over the arm of the chair and she looks so-

“You look so fucking gorgeous.” Spills out of you, and her hips twitch up and into her hand, and isn’t that something.

“I do want to see you. I want to see you so badly that I don’t even- care that I feel bad about it. I still want it. I want you more than I’m supposed to.” You continue, barely even thinking about what you’re admitting, just wanting to get more reactions out of her, and you are.

“I think about what you look like when you get home and you probably have to get yourself off. I think about what you look like in the shower. I replayed when you kissed my cheek over and over and over and I almost jacked it.”

“Oh- Fuck, baby, did you really-“

“I did. I did, sir. I had to clean my bathroom twice to stop myself. I’d do anything for you. I want to be so good to you. For you. I want- I want to touch you. I want to like touching you. I want to. Fuck, I want to know how you taste. I want to be comfortable with you- you make me feel so. Safe.” You say, and you gasp and blink and suddenly there’s tears that you didn’t know you had, but it doesn’t even matter. When you talk next it’s thick and viscous in your throat and you still don’t care.

“You make me feel all fuzzy. You make me forget there’s anyone else alive. I want you. I want – you, Sevika. Please. Please let me, sir.”

Your voice is practically broken for how genuine you are and it almost makes you laugh. You barely feel any of the awful things you felt at the start and you haven’t lied once.

“I have dreams about you-”

“Wet dreams?”

“Y-eah. I do. I really do. I don’t even know what to do about them.”

“Have more.” She grunts, her face a vision of scrunched pleasure and gritted teeth, and it makes you laugh, and suddenly you’re so calm.

“Yes, sir, I will.” You breathe and she groans, long and low and loud in a way you should’ve expected but didn’t- and her head falls back and her thighs tense and shake and her boot presses and grinds into your cunt in a way you know she doesn’t even mean and your own hips twitch up and into it as you feel genuine pleasure in a way that shocks you still and makes you cry out, joining hers.

She’s panting through her nose like a bull, her eyes slowly blinking open, and she’s the most beautiful thing you think you’ve ever seen. You don’t want to do anything with anyone. Only her. You can’t even feel embarrassed about what you said. There’s only a twinge of awfulness for the spark you had at the end, and you know that’ll go away soon.

“Hey. Hey, what’s wrong.” She huffs.

“Felt too good again.” You whisper.

She swears and takes her boot away from you and you hate that she noticed so quickly.

“It’s okay. I didn’t… I don’t mind. It wasn’t- bad. It wasn’t bad. Just the same as before. That’s all.”

She pauses and breathes and then nods, and soothes your hair back out of her grip, carefully scraping her metal hand through a few times, and then she eases her other hand out of her pants, and even in the low light you can see it’s glistening.

“Fuck.” You breathe- almost everything else forgotten about.

She laughs, and it’s genuine and almost mocking but not quite. You know you’re supposed to be in on the joke. It makes you smile and blush even more than you already were.

“Clean me off.” She says, her hand gently near your face, and on instinct you open your mouth and lean forward but she pulls away.

You frown, looking up at her, and she shakes her head.

“Please, sir-“

“No. The regular way.” She says, her breathing not quite back to even.

You groan but you do. Wipe it away with a tissue the way you do if she’s got a bit of food on her hands, though you’re reluctant as anything to.

You don’t quite go back to baseline, can’t stop the way you’re turned on, and you can’t quite ignore it either. For once you’re the one who’s half squirming.

“Stop moving, baby.” She says lowly- and this command, you listen to.

By the end of it you think you’re floating off somewhere more than you ever had, and she’s talking lowly to you and you don’t even feel like some of it is English, though you understand all of it.

She slowly removes her hand from yours and you make a soft noise, your half lidded eyes flickering up to hers, glassy and betraying more than you ever mean to let them, but you don’t mind.

“Such a good girl.” She murmurs. Almost to herself.

She grabs your chin softly in her hand and you let her. It’s soft enough you know you could get out of it if you’d like, but you’re not going to make any moves to.

You smile gently up at her, some emotion you haven’t identified swelling in your chest, lovely and sweet. What you’ve felt for her already tenfold. You don’t even know when it got this big, just that it has.

You don’t even mind. Not one bit.

She smiles back, soft and sweet.

She leans down and towards you, her eyes half closing themselves and her breath surprisingly still like she doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

You make another soft noise when she kisses the very corner of your mouth. Your eyes drift closed and your tummy does wonderful feeling flip-flops and then she pulls back and it’s over.

You open your eyes back up, and you could swear there’s the smallest blush on her dark cheeks. You lurch forward, uncoordinated- and land the kiss you meant for her mouth onto her chin, and suddenly she’s chuckling and bundling you up and towards her and it’s all you can do to go. You drift for a while, there, like that, before she gently pulls you back and gives you some water like she normally does, and the two of you talk quietly on the walk home. Her hand on your lower back again, her thumb gently rubbing up and down.

It doesn’t make you anything other than happy, anymore, to feel that. You think she’d probably class that as an improvement.

“You did very, very well.” She says, her hand on your hip as though to keep you grounded.

“Thank you. Sevika. Um. Just. Thank you.” You breathe out, and she snorts.

You don’t sleep nearly as well. You keep thinking about whether to try and get yourself off. Again, you almost do. But the fear of it feeling-

You don’t.

It feels- not bad, per say. But she doesn’t do it again.

You ask. You do. You beg for it- for even the small taste of the way she looked when she’s rubbing at herself, but she doesn’t do it. She keeps teasing you instead.

It’s been more than two weeks of that and you think you’re going to run yourself ragged- or maybe lose your voice for the way you want to scream.

You lose the bad that was there at the start and you don’t even catch on to it. You’re just left with the want to do it again, anything else be damned. Anything she’ll let you that’s you giving her pleasure. Anything at all.

You look up from your book and smile at her as she comes in, closing the door behind her.

“How was your day?” You ask as you stand and put your book down.

She doesn’t reply as you walk forward, and you frown a bit, wondering if something’s wrong.

“Sevi?” You ask softly as you reach her. You notice she’s tracking your face, your eyes, her own animated and bright and almost fierce with something. You like that look. You like all of her looks- but you recognize what it is.

She looks hungry for something.

Your gaze softens, and you allow a hand to gently touch her elbow, and you realize that she hasn’t brought any food.

“Are- you alright, sir?” You ask, looking up at her under your lashes. Not even purposefully.

You aren’t sure what you’ve done but it sure is something. Her nostrils flare even more and she groans a bit and suddenly spurs into action. She moves faster than you could possibly keep track off, and you yelp when she picks you up easily and you’re in the air and then you’re landing on something soft and trying to get your bearings.

You’re on the bed.

And you aren’t anxious. Not really.

“Sir- I- Sevika-“ You get out, managing to lift your head.

“Stay.” She snaps, fumbling with her belt, and you groan and let your head drop back again.

You would be anxious, you think, only that you’re fully clothed, and you think that means she’s not doing anything to you.
Which makes you think-

She climbs over you and suddenly she’s straddling your face and she’s right fucking there and your mouth is already watering. She’s even more gorgeous than you thought she’d be, the sides of her labia trimmed down and lovely dark bush on her pubis, and you can see how wet she is already, barely able to smell her. It’s even better than you thought. Her clit engorged almost egregiously, large and swollen. You wonder if you can make it even bigger.

You don’t realize you’re panting so you can get more of that smell, musky and earthy and gorgeous.

“Will you be good?” Her voice rings out, and you whine, your hands twitching from where they are as you nod desperately.

Fuck. Yes, you’ll be good.

“Please.” You whisper. You aren’t even sure how you manage that, not really.

She swears but then she pulls back and you let out a sound you’d normally be embarrassed about. She looks down at you but you can’t even see it, going half cross eyed with the way you’re eyeing her up.

She swears again but this time it’s just to herself and then she lowers down. You don’t mean to but you drift in the wrong place and go a little bit numb as you lathe over her the way you would anyone else who’s done this to you-

She whistles and although it’s low it’s piercing and you startle when she pulls away.

“Bad girl. You said you’d be good.” She says and when you breathe in it’s shaky.

“Is this too much?” She follows up with.

“No- no, sir, I want this, I do, I do, please-“ you say, genuine panic that she won’t let you in your voice.

“Do it properly. Do it the way you want to do it with me.” She says softly.

You want to. You do. But-

“What happens if I can’t?” You whisper. For a second you don’t even know if she’s heard you.

“Then we stop. And I leave. And we try again a different day. Maybe a week- give you some time.”

You can’t wait a week. You can’t. You won’t. You will not let that happen.

You nod and let your eyes drift closed as you turn your head and press a wet kiss into her inner thigh.

You nose at the skin and sigh a little bit, the awful feeling in your chest weakening when you do it again. Her skin is lovely- even if there are some puckered places of scars. It makes it interesting to you. You want to be able to map it. You want to be able to see her properly.

Only in the dim light it’s still a gamble whether you can or not, and so you don’t try, and you just keep allowing yourself more. You don’t even realize it could be teasing her, though the next time she asks her voice is slightly shaky.

“Would you like to try again? Be good for me?”

You nod your nose into her thigh and she lowers back down onto you and this time you just let yourself gently kiss around her and then lick your lips. You can taste her and you groan a little bit and keep going, soft and slow and steady and you hope wringing pleasure from her gradually.

“Good girl. Much better.” She says, and you let out a noise awfully close to a moan and nod against her.

You go like that until you just have to let yourself lick at her properly, and you gently lathe through her folds, being careful to time your breaths as best you can. You get lost in it in a way you haven’t before, go somewhere soft and quiet and lovely. You don’t even notice the way your hands gently grab around her thighs to pull her closer to you, though she puts her hand in your hair in response.

You finally, finally, let yourself lick around her clit, pulling it gently into your mouth and rolling your tongue around it, and she swears, groaning long and low the way she did when she was close before. You let out another sound in response and it makes her cant her hips down and into you and the pace quickens but you don’t mind because it’s still just her and you know that.

She starts twitching her hips down and into your face and you pick up what she likes the most, and try and keep at it until-

“Oh, baby, so good to me.” She gets out through gritted teeth, and you feel warm and fuzzy and maybe even a bit proud at how breathless she is.

You feel it as she pulses and her thighs tense around your ears and you can’t even breathe but you don’t care, not one bit, just keep working her through it until she pulls away.

She groans and then she laughs and you giggle a bit yourself.

She gets off of you and you’re still getting your breath back when she pulls you up to sitting on the edge of the bed, she’s on her knees and she’s your eye height. She smiles, not quite a smirk but certainly self-satisfied.

“Did you like that?”

“I loved that.” You whisper, wanting to squirm just a little bit where you are.

She smiles again and this time it reaches her eyes and she half laughs again, and she presses forward and kisses you- still to the side, but further in. Just tentatively. Just close.

You whine and your eyes close even further than they were and your arms wind around her neck before you realize that’s what they’re doing, but she makes a soft noise and lets you.

She pulls away, and picks you up, and that startles you enough to gasping and clinging to her, the world less fuzzy from the shock of it, and she laughs again as she places you gently in your chair and hands you some water.

“Was that nice for you?” You half slur out.

“Very.”

You smile, taking a sip, even as a small amount of nervousness clenches unexpectedly.

But you breathe through it- and though you suspect that she knows what you’re doing, she lets you, and it works.

“Big day at work?” You ask when you feel better.

She hesitates slightly, but she ends up shrugging a shoulder and you know that you’re likely right.

Though the two of you talk on the walk home the way you usually do by now- which you half think is for her to be able to tell if you’re stable- you don’t ask another relevant question until you get there.

“Um. Have you eaten tonight?”

“No. I’ll just eat at home.”

“…Would you like to come up?”

She looks up and back down and does this little look with her eyes that makes you laugh.

“I can make us dinner. I have enough groceries. Honest. I won’t mug you.” You say.

“That would’ve been a hell of a long con.” She jokes back, a smile on her face that you’re happy you put there, and it makes you laugh harder.

When you turn to go up she follows you.

“Oh, wow.” She says when the two of you go in.

“Ha-ha.”

“No, this is even worse than I imagined. That’s impressive.” She says, and you laugh again even though you know she likely means it.

But then she keeps going.

“Surely you’re getting paid enough to-“

“…I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s your money.”

“I’d rather you be using it on a better living situation than whatever else you’re blowing it on.”

You don’t know whether to be offended or not. Surprising anger shatters in your chest. Blowing it on something. Fuck her for thinking that.

“I don’t use it on anything.” You snap, turning around and hating that the kitchen and living room are the one fucking thing so you can’t even leave her on the couch.

“I can see that.” She says.

“It’s your money.” You say again, like it matters. Because it does.

“When I give it to you it’s not mine anymore. I think you need to check how payments work.”

“I don’t- like it.” You try and summarize.

“Well I’m not exactly going to stop paying you so that you can-“

She stops herself. Maybe she saw the way your shoulders were tight and close to your neck, and the way you stopped getting things out of the fridge.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to do that either. I would’ve. I thought you would’ve known that.”

“I did. I do.”

“…Okay.” You say, but it sounds defeated, and she hates that.

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore. It’s your money. You’re right. You can spend or not spend it how you’d like.” She says.

“…I don’t want you to buy me anything else.” You say, turning around and being shocked when she’s right there.

“I can’t promise not to give you gifts.” She says.

You don’t even know why she’s said that. Why her mind went there.

“Then I’ll gift you back.”

“No you won’t.”

You don’t mention that you’ve been the one replenishing the alcohol in the room since Beatrice gave it to you. You don’t mention that you’ve been cleaning up before she gets back. You don’t even mention that you have a new pair of boots for her hidden under your bed that you’ve been too afraid to give her.

“Then I’ll- um. Gift you first.” You say.

“That’s what the dinner is.”

“I don’t want to- the dinner is for you. I like. Doing things for you.”

“You stopped getting paid half an hour ago you know.”

Part of you wants to cry and you don’t even know why.

“Low fucking blow, Sevika. I like doing things for you. Paid or not.” You say again, like it’s encompassing. But it’s not.

It’s not, and you hate it. You also hate that you get teary when you’re mad.

“Okay. Okay, baby, I’m sorry. I know you do.”

“The dinner isn’t a gift.”

“Okay.” She says.

“Please sit down in the living room.”

“I upset you.”

“Yes. Please sit down.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to make you dinner. And I want to- I just need ten minutes. I’ll be normal after ten minutes. I promise.”

“…You don’t have to be.”

“But I will be. It’s just that the entire situation upsets me.”

“I know it does.” She says, and you don’t think she knows the ways you mean it- and you’re too scared to say that. That you aren’t even sure you know yourself.

She goes and sits down, and fifteen minutes later when you’re just under halfway through cooking and you don’t feel like crying anymore, she exclaims that you’ve only got the same four fucking books and you laugh.